


To Hell and Back

by deikus_is_hellbound



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Birdflash - Freeform, M/M, YJ, Young Justice - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5655172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deikus_is_hellbound/pseuds/deikus_is_hellbound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t worry, Rob. It’s not like I’m just going to drop dead in the street.” Dick tried to suck in a breath, but he found that he was starting to feel light headed and that his chest was too heavy to allow for his lungs to alleviate. The buzz of the light fixtures was all he could hear for a moment – a low drone in the back of his mind reminding him that this was actually happening and wasn’t part of his imagination. God, what he would give to be imagining this.<br/>“What do you mean, ‘It’s not like I’m just going to drop dead in the street’?! That’s exactly what it sounds like!” He nearly wheezed, but surprisingly enough his voice was steady. Batman’s training has more than one use, it seems. He’s falling apart on the inside, but by the look on Wally’s face all he’s getting from him is irritation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hell and Back

“So, Rob, that thing I needed to tell you?” KF starts, sauntering toward the showers. “I’m sick.” Robin doesn’t take the time to meddle through why in the world KF decides to tell him that he’s ‘sick’. He lags behind, stretching sore muscles from their previous mission. They’d logged so much time tearing through muddy swamps. Wally had been too fast to sink in, and Miss M could hover just above the muck, but he, Superboy, Artemis, and Kaldur had been stuck slugging through it and somehow his shins and thighs aren’t the things that hurts the worst. It’s his neck and shoulders, and god is he ready to throw in the towel for the night and sleep this off…and maybe stretch it out. But Batman’s probably going to make him go on patrol with him tonight. Maybe if he goes onto Alfred and convinces him to fight for his side, Bruce will allow him a night off. He’s been kinda tense about this whole Team thing anyway.

The advantage of lagging behind KF at normal speed is that he gets to have quite a good look at him without Wally scrutinizing every glance his way. But it’s not like the dense as hell Wally West would even notice if Robin were staring at him…or Dick for that matter. Still, he’d rather be on the safer side than walking the line of the fence. And from here, he won’t be caught tracing the line of Wally’s back, or following the contours of his side. The only fat Wally has on his body is the small, tiny little bump where his waist meets his legs, and a tiny little accumulation of fat leaves just enough to pinch, but not much else. He wonders what running his fingers over the contour of those shoulder blades would feel like, how KF would respond if he weren’t so shut down toward any idea of the sexuality he was presumed to be born with. Robin clears his throat, running firm fingers into his sore neck. “What do you mean, sick?” The pair turn into the showers.

“Y’know dude, like, _sick in a ‘this won’t affect you until you’re old’_ kinda way.” The redhead explained, smiling at him reassuringly. Dick could tell it didn’t reach his eyes, even if they were hidden beneath the boy’s goggles. Dick just furrowed his brows. What did that even mean? Sick as in a ‘this won’t affect you till you’re old’ kinda way? He’d assumed this was going to be one of those Wally-complains-about-how-he’s-caught-the-common-cold-despite-his –accelerated- system times. Apparently, though, this is more like one of those Wally-says-something-life-altering times and not in the good way.

“What is it, then?” Dick asked, frowning. The shorter boy took off his cape, and began to unzip his suit as he shot an incredulous look to his friend, who looked nothing but nonchalant. They were the last two in the showers today; Aqualad had somewhere to be and Superboy had run off with M’gann before the debriefing had even really officially ended. So, naturally, Wally had picked now to break this news. Wally looked uncomfortable with this topic, even if he was the one who had brought it up. Robin isn’t sure if he really understands what Wally is trying to get at, but then again as readable as Wally is, he isn’t the most decipherable of people.

“Well…” Wally started, yanking his goggles off with a snap before he wormed the chin piece of his Kid Flash costume off his face carefully. “They don’t have a word for it specifically, I mean as far as I know.” Dick didn’t like where this conversation was going, by the sound of it. His brain had begun to work out that this wasn’t the type of conversation that concluded with them continuing on with their day. He could already tell where it was going but the vulnerable side of him waited, teetering on the edge of anxiety as he itched for confirmation of what the news was going to be. “It’s kinda, really progressive. So long story and confusing explanation short, the more I run, the faster I die.”

Everything had been manageable until that last sentence. He couldn’t breathe. Wally was looking at him like everything was normal, like he didn’t just say that their commitment together, the whole reason they met, was killing him. And not slowly either. Robin felt as though a cinderblock had been dropped on his chest; his diaphragm was certainly acting like there had been. Robin tries to coax something else out of Wally with a look; some kind of notion that this was a joke, some kind of word that there was a cure, or…something. Anything but that fucking smile and acting like the news meant nothing to him.

“Don’t worry, Rob. It’s not like I’m just going to drop dead in the street.” Dick tried to suck in a breath, but he found that he was starting to feel light headed and that his chest was too heavy to allow for his lungs to alleviate. The buzz of the light fixtures was all he could hear for a moment – a low drone in the back of his mind reminding him that this was actually happening and wasn’t part of his imagination. God, what he would give to be imagining this.

“What do you mean, ‘It’s not like I’m just going to drop dead in the street’?! That’s exactly what it sounds like!” He nearly wheezed, but surprisingly enough his voice was steady. Batman’s training has more than one use, it seems. He’s falling apart on the inside, but by the look on Wally’s face all he’s getting from him is irritation. Wally shrugged casually, wiggling his speedsuit down to his waist, leaving it clinging to his scrawny hips as he flicked on his shower so it began to warm.

“Well, dude.” Wally said, running his fingers through his sweaty hair. “I’m not telling you this so you can be angry with me about it, I’m telling you because you’re my friend, and I thought you deserved to know.” He said frankly. And with that Wally shed the rest of his costume, tossed it over the wall of the shower, and stepped inside the hot steam. Dick just stared after him, watching his freckled shoulders disappear into the foggy steam of the shower. Clearly, he had had plenty of time to reconcile this news on his own, but Dick was far from adjusted. He blinked once, twice before he dropped backwards onto the bench where he’d slung his cape, arms hanging between his legs.

Wally West…dying?

 

 

***

 

 

Dick didn’t have the stomach to do much that day. His shower didn’t leave him feeling any better , and the newfound news that had begun to dance around in his brain was making him physically ill. He felt as though he was going to puke, or maybe faint. His best friend is dying and he doesn’t even seem to be concerned. Wally has to be concerned. Or in the least, he has to have been concerned at one point and is now deciding that he’s going to ignore it like he does with most of his problems. But this isn’t really a problem he can ignore. His superhero life is literally running him to his grave.

Dick huddled down into his leather jacket, taking the long way home. Bruce had business, and Alfred had offered to pick him up, but Dick didn’t feel much like talking. He felt as though his mind might explode. The throbbing in his neck isn’t really helping. There’s no way to fix this and he didn’t know what to do to help his friend. He felt helpless, lost…afraid. He needed the walk home by himself. He needed to be alone to try and work this over in his head, but honestly the boy didn’t think he’d ever come to terms with this information. Honestly of all the bull headed things Wally would have said this had not really been what he was expecting.

Wally West, his best friend, possibly the most important person in his life, is not so slowly wasting away. And Wally didn’t even seem to care that it was happening to him.

Dick cared. The thought of Wally being terminally ill made his stomach flop, and his insides writhe. What would his world be like without Wally West in it? He stared up at the sky, noting how the cloudy grey sky and the chill in the air matched his mood rather well : sullen, angry, grim. He didn’t want to be here right now. He needed to go back two weeks and not know this anymore.

But, he’s glad Wally told him; because the alternative has Dick standing alongside a head marker and not knowing why.

He wants to cry.

Dick rubs his eyes behind his shades, feeling the water beneath them that he refused to acknowledge. The boy crouches, leaning his back against one of the buildings. People brushed past him without a second glance – not even questioning a child huddled on the street. This is Gotham after all and a kid huddled on the edge of the street is honestly one of the lesser problems they were likely to face that day. But his problem is worse than any of theirs could ever be. Dick can feel the dread tangibly in his being, the absolute hollow emptiness of fear and helplessness.

_No cure. No remedy. No Wally._

The tears started falling before he could register that his eyes had begun to sting. His shoulders shake and he viciously rubs the heel of his palm into his sockets in a belated attempt to extinguish them, but nothing works and all he accomplished was to give himself more of a headache. He sniffed as his eyes looked down at the grimy concrete of Gotham’s streets – but it was bleary and muffled. Everything seemed to be blending together; the sights, the sounds, the smell. It had turned into one huge mix of sense that kept the pounding in his head on repeat. Eventually even that dulled out into a low buzz and his tears began to dry, but his chest was still shaking with the grief, and he hardly could see straight.

His phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

Dick shifted to fish it out and glance warily at the caller ID.

_Alfred_.

He sniffs. He doesn’t want to talk to Alfred, but he knows that he should. The man is probably just worried about him. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there, anyway. He accepted the call.

“Hello?” His mouth twisted into a disgruntled frown when his voice wavered.

“Master Richard?” Dick noted how he used ‘Richard’ instead of ‘Dick.’ He only did that when he was worried which meant that he’d caused a fuss back home. He couldn’t help the sniffle and he knows Alfred is concerned when he hears the soft clearing of his throat. He can see the mannerisms that Alfred must be making, shoulders back, chest out, stern but caring look crinkling on his features. “Where are you? I will come pick you up.” Dick looked at the street sign, knowing that refusing would be fruitless. He chokes out the address and the phone goes quiet after Alfred’s quiet ‘I’m on my way, stay safe.’ It’s only another fifteen minutes of shivering in his jacket before Alfred arrives, shuffles him to the car, and drives him home. Not a word is spoken when they arrive – Alfred can tell that something grave is happening when Dick doesn’t acknowledge dinner, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets the teenager retreat to his bedroom in solitude, leaving the tear tracks streaking down his face hanging heavy in the atmosphere.

 

***

 

 

“What, that’s ridiculous.” Wally complained, wrinkling his nose at Dick, who just frowned in return.

“It is not ridiculous. I can totally do that. What’s ridiculous is that you can’t.” He retorted, crossing his arms. “I can even do that in civvies, with my arms tied behind my back!”

“Okay! OKAY, showoff!” Wally chuckled, nudging his friend with his elbow. The two of them stood on top of Wayne Tower, with Dick leaning over the railing to look at the drop before him. Wally peered over his shoulder, curious, as well as uncertain. “You’re crazy if you think you can survive that fall, dude.”

“Says the dude who runs up the side of entire buildings.” Dick retorts, glancing back at the redhead and smirking.

“Dick, that’s _different_ -“

“You really, really think so?” Wally paused, knowing where this was going, and then-

“No! _Dude_ ,-“

 

“See ya!” He cackled, tipping himself over the ledge of the building, and hurtled toward the ground, watching the terrified expression of Wally recede into the backdrop of the ebony night sky of Gotham City.

Wally yelped.

The wind howled in his ears, and the chill of the air drove right through his jacket, hoodie, and his skin, chilling him to the bone, and yet all he could do was laugh as the wind ran its spindly fingers through his hair and his pulse spiked enticingly. His hand tightens around the guardrail, and Dick hangs there on the outside of it – the very much _wrong_ side of the rail with a devilish grin. Wally’s hands were on his arms, and he looked like he was about to absolutely shit himself.

“Dude-don’t you ever fucking do that again.” Wally panted, breath lost on him for once. Dick raised his eyebrows, feeling the abnormal heat radiating from Wally’s hands. It felt nice, he had to admit. Wally hauls him over the side without permission, and the two tumble together onto the top of Wayne Tower roof. Wally ends up beneath him, arms around his torso protectively. He wasn’t sure how many times he’d imagined them in this particular position, though he’d admit there was usually less Wally looking like Dick had just tried to kill himself. He smirked, cackling.

“Right, ‘cause you don’t believe me about surviving that fall.” He reasoned, letting Wally keep his arms pinned at his side even if his brain was telling him to wriggle them free and push Wally off. He couldn’t bring himself to actually do it. He was content to stay there forever, if Wally wanted to. Walls snorted in response, mouth twisting into something of a frown.

“Nah, ‘cause I didn’t want to take the chance of you being _wrong_ , and _dying_. I’m the one who’s supposed to die from stupidity, remember?” He chuckled, but Dick couldn’t help the pang in his chest. There he went, reminding him of something he didn’t want to remember. Wally had been fine over the three months after he’d broken the news. No sign of deterioration, no change in ability, character, performance. Nothing. Wally still chattered endlessly about this or that, still inhaled an unholy amount of food, and still used the worst pickup lines on anything with legs. Things seemed so normal, but Dick wouldn’t be able to ease himself back to that carefree state when he knows that at any moment everything he’d built his life around could come crashing down. Wally either was well adjusted or just ignoring the fact that he’s _dying_. Knowing him, Dick believes it’s the latter. In some ways Wally is really fortunate, because he can blissfully deny that anything is wrong with him, continue as if nothing’s wrong.

But Dick can’t. He never will.

“Wally…” Wally smirked at him, shaking his head.

“Nah, dude,” he sat up, pushing Dick off of him. “Don’t wanna hear it. Trust me, Barry’s given me the whole speech.” Dick settles beside his friend. He knows Wally doesn’t want to hear it again. He’s probably heard it thousands of times. Barry had tried to get him to quit the team, quit using his super speed for now in hopes that he could live a normal life and not die from something they could have stopped, but Wally knew as well as the rest of them did that they may never find a cure for whatever disease is plaguing him. Asking Wally to stop using his super speed, and to stop being a part of the Team, _The Titans_ , would be like asking him to stop being who he is. It would be to erase everything Wally has worked for his whole life. Everything _they’d_ worked for _together_.

“Well, maybe he’s right?” Dick offered. Wally just shrugged.

“Nah- well, maybe about the enjoying myself part.” He admitted, looking over to Dick with those mesmerizing green eyes of his. They sat bright – surrounded by the pale complexion of Wally’s freckled skin with thin strands of red falling over them. Wally seems so much like better days, like the carefree time Dick spent travelling with the circus, enjoying life and meeting people everywhere. Everyone was happy to see them, to meet the ever talented acrobats and their gifted sons.

“What’d he say about that?” Dick asked, not bothering to catch himself staring. The speedster smiled, combing his fingers through his hair. It fell sloppily to the side as the wind coaxed it in an awkward direction. As much of a dork as Wally was, and as much of the ‘Nerdy Science genius’ vibe he let off, he still managed to be stunningly gorgeous, in such a homely way. Looking at Wally felt like looking summer dead in the eyes; sun-kissed cheeks, sparking grassy emerald eyes, flame colored hair, and the gentle complexion beneath it all. Breathtaking. And when he smiled Dick’s heart nearly beat right from his chest.

“He said that I should do the things that I want to, before…you know.” Dick nodded, looking down at the floor to distract himself. Yeah. He did know. He wished it wasn’t true, but he also knew that he, Bruce, and Barry were doing all they could to find a cure. Dick wasn’t the best in that area, but he did what he could. He refused to tell Wally about it though. Wally would just get mad, and tell him not to worry himself to death; there was no cure and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Dick couldn’t accept that, of course. He doubted that Wally accepted it either. It was just another ploy to make things all seem normal so no one would worry and get flustered around him. He knew how much Wally hated tears.

“Yeah, I know Walls.” He tried to smile at Wally, even if it felt a little bit wrong. Why should they be happy his life was ending? “There anything you’ve been wanting to do that you can do right now? We’ll make a bucket list, check them off as we go.” Wally snorted.

“A bucket list? Dude, talk about cliché much?” Dick laughed, crossing his legs.

“Yeah, but who cares if it’s cliché? There’s a reason they stick around long enough to even be considered a cliché in the first place. C’mon, it’ll be fun.” Wally rolled his eyes, but nodded eventually.“Right, so what’s something we can do tonight, before the security guards get up here?” They were going to have to make a run for it pretty soon. Dick had hacked the cameras hours ago, but the shift would be changing soon and Wayne Industries has been tight on security ever since Bruce became Batman. They’ll notice the missing three hours on the cam pretty fast. Wally hummed, tapping his chin.

“I don’t know dude.” Wally admits.

“Mind if I have a go at it?” Dick asks, raising an eyebrow questioningly at his friend. Wally gathers his lips to the side in a hum, but he’s just joking, and laughs at the finish of the calculating face.

“Go for it. Whatcha got in mind?” Wally has no idea where Dick’s about to take this conversation, but it’s permission enough for him.

“This.” His warm fingers grazed Wally’s jaw, before he cupped his cheek and leaned in. It was a sensation like ten million things at once: Wally’s scent of peanuts and chocolate mixed with the cool night air, his warm skin sliding against Dick’s cheek, his soft lips pressing against Dick’s chapped ones in a way that suggested he’d had lots of practice at this. He’d done it out of instinct, Dick knows. He breathed in Wally’s hot breath as he exhaled but was thrown off guard entirely when Wally’s tongue slid right over his. He didn’t pull away. On the contrary he leaned in closer, eyes sliding closed. The last glimpse he got was the freckle dusted cheeks of Wally’s skin and his long, pale lashes ghosting against cheekbones. He slipped his arm around Wally’s back, pulling the elder boy closer.

But a gasp separates them. Wally’s eyes are impressively blown out, and his hand covers his mouth almost immediately. The blush on his cheeks only accentuates his freckles. Dick isn’t sure what to do. He expected this. He definitely expected this. But he’s not sure what his role should be. Wally is bound to be freaking out, yes. And Dick thinks he might come around eventually and that he should let things continue as normal until Wally digests this situation, but he just can’t. His heart is racing and pounding and hurting from the rejection which he knew he’d receive. Batman’s training tells him to stay steadfast, but he’s not sure he can just ignore all of these feelings. He always tries to ignore his feelings but when it comes to Wally that becomes…so difficult. He’s tried and tried, but he just…

He can’t.

Dick licks Wally’s lingering taste from his lips, swallows it whole where he’ll keep it under lock and key until he knows what to do about his friend’s rejection. KidMouth is rendered speechless and Dick wonders if maybe he should be proud. Wally’s just staring at him, Wally who is two years older than him and acts as if it’s a century, is just staring at him like Dick is supposed to remedy this. But he can’t remedy it. It’s been eating him up inside. Sure, Dick’s tried to date girls…even other guys, but his mind always ends up becoming bored and drawing back to one other specific person, and until he tries to take a shot with Wally, he doesn’t think that anyone else will satisfy him. Dick swallows the urge to really jump off the roof and see if he’ll survive, and clears his tight throat. He pushes himself to his feet, extending a hand out to Wally. Wally’s glossed over gaze slowly locks onto him, and then his hand.

“Come on, Wally, the security is probably on their way.

His heart eases ever so slightly when Wally slowly reaches out to take his hand.

 

***

 

“Wally, you are not going to get into the Batcave for your birthday.” Dick grumbles, making his way down to the kitchen of Mount Justice. Even if he didn’t actively live there quite yet (he was working on that) he knew that the place hardly held an air of ‘abandoned’ as Superboy and Miss Martian used the kitchen and entertainment areas frequently enough (Robin had caught Superboy staring at static once, it had been fairly odd and he’d never really asked the kid about it. )

“But, come on dude! That’s like, every dude’s dream!” Wally begs, following him into the kitchen and zipping straight over to the fridge. Robin rolls his eyes from behind his mask and hopes that the meaning is not lost on Wally, who resurfaces with old cookies from last week M’gann had made unbeknownst to the speedster.

“No, man. Are you serious? Batman would kill me!” He and Bruce are already on shaky terms as it is. Letting Wally into the Batcave would be a disaster, heavy on the dis. He’d never hear the end of it, not from Wally or from Bruce. Especially from Bruce. Bruce would have his ass in a matter of seconds, and he’d run it so far into the ground that he might as well be dead, and even Barry’s molecule vibrating couldn’t get him out; a scenario that Dick doesn’t particularly want to experience. And he certainly doesn’t want to experience it just because Wally wants to have a cool birthday.

“B’, duuuuude.” He whines around the cookies. “I’s m’ birf’day.” Robin groans – he likes to think that he’s a very patient person, but occasionally Wally’s persistence is trying. Scratch the occasionally.

“And it’d be my coffin day. I’m not taking you to the Batcave.” He asserts with finality, getting himself a glass of water. “But, we can do something for your special day.” Wally grumbles, and is behind Robin in mere seconds, cookies long gone.

“Fiineeee.” He whines, dropping the flat of his jaw over Robin’s shoulders as his hands drape loosely around the little bird’s waist. “That’s almost as cool.” Robin just chuckles, looking back to his boyfriend. It is not almost as cool, not anywhere close. The Batcave is awesome. He will be the first to attest to that considering Bruce usually just stares stonily when other people ask him about it. But he can’t let Wally come inside just because it’s his birthday. They don’t let most people into the Batcave, and when they do they only let them in because it’s a dire situation.

“Sorry to disappoint.” The younger boy quips, pecking the other boy’s cheek lightly. The two weren’t inclined to get very touchy while they are in the presence of the Team, but right now it’s just the two of them and he _really_ misses Wally. All the time. He’s never got free time, and Wally’s usually palling around with Barry when he’s not around. He doesn’t mind that. Really, he does not. He’d spend time out of the suit with Bruce if the man had an ounce to spare. The ounces he could spare were usually spent in the company of women, though, and Dick is usually left helping Alfred out around the house. “But, I’ll be free tomorrow. I promise.” Wally grins, excitement lighting up those childlike eyes.

“You better not bail this time.” He warns, but Robin just turns in his grasp, cupping Wally’s cheeks.

“I won’t. I promised. You know I don’t break my promises. After the mission tonight, I’ll just come home with you.” _Most of the time_. He doesn’t break his promises most of the time. Last time he’d bailed it was completely unavoidable. Gotham was under siege, the Joker was running rampant, people were dying. Wally had understood that he had to stay. But that still hadn’t helped his disappointment when their date had been ruined. But there’s nothing they can do about their night life interfering with their day life. He’d apologized profusely and told Wally they’d make it up the next week.

“Yeah yeah.” Wally drones, rolling his eyes. “I know, Rob.” He retracts himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’ll race ya to the dispatch room!” He chirps, and before Robin can even put his glass down, he’s gone. Robin mutters to himself about ‘unfairness’ and takes off running toward the aforementioned room.

The Team is gathered up and sent out on a covert mission. All Dick can remember from that mission is Wally’s form reappearing, solidifying in his sights, crumpling, and hitting the ground with a loud crash and a cry of pain.

 

***

 

It’s been exactly nine hours, fourty two minutes, and twenty eight, twenty nine. …

He’s still sitting next to the bed, listening to the steady beep beep beep, of the heart rate monitor. Wally hasn’t moved an inch. The only satisfaction that Dick has is the slight rise and fall of his chest indicating that he is in fact, breathing and alive. But Dick hasn’t even gotten so much as the slight fluttering of an eyelid. Nothing. He’s been stagnant. But Dick hasn’t left yet. He’s still sitting beside the bed, hands clenching the bedrail till his knuckles bleed a sickly white. Bruce had tried to coerce him home, but Dick just wouldn’t have it. He is not going anywhere.

He _promised_.

 

***

 

“Dick?” The pitiful, weak voice rouses him from sleep. Someone’s calling his name. Someone’s trying to talk to him. In his tense state that is all it takes to wake him. Bleary cerulean eyes meet frightened pale green ones. “Dick – what – where are we, I –“ Dick sits up, pushing the blanket off his shoulders.

“Hey, Walls.” He responds softly, relief flooding his chest. He stands up. “Don’t worry. We’re safe – you had a little accident yesterday.” He explains. Wally takes a moment to process the news, letting out a shaky breath.

“W-where’s Iris, and Barry?” Wally sounds panicked, eyes blown wide. “Dick – I, I’m – something’s wrong.” It’s nearly a whimper. Dick furrows his brow.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you in pain?” He asks, almost frantic. He doesn’t know where Wally’s aunt and uncle are – he’d been asleep. Wally shakes his head, breath coming in quick, short gasps.

“No – noono. I’m – _I can’t feel them, Dick. I can’t feel them_.” Dick doesn’t put two and two together, though. He gives his boyfriend a confused look.

“What?” Wally looks up at him, up from the sheets he’s clutching. He looks even paler than before, hands clenching in the sheets.

“Dick. I can’t feel my legs.”

 

***

 

The doctors at the Watchtower explained it over and over – to Iris and Barry, to Wally, to him. It still didn’t make sense to him. He still didn’t understand exactly _how_ this happened. He could hardly wrap his head around it – he doesn’t know how Wally is doing with it.

The boy hadn’t even spoken to him after the tests had been done. Dick had tried again and again to get some sort of response from Wally but it seemed that the redhead only wanted to be left alone, and Barry had suggested he finally head home and let Wally – let all of them – sit with it for a while. Dick had been reluctant, but he’d tried to speak to Wally and he just wasn’t having it so Dick begrudgingly did take the trek home, and plops down on the couch as soon as he arrives. Alfred and Bruce already know, and the butler is waiting patiently with some tea and dinner if he wants it, and gives the boy a blanket to curl up with. Dick is somewhere between mortification, exhaustion, and shock. Wally can’t use his legs. Wally no longer can run like he used to. And to top it all off he’s had to leave him floating up in the Watchtower Bay, silent and suffering. It’s not like there is much that he could have done about Wally’s silence, and he knows there’s not much he can say to comfort the boy, but somehow leaving him up there to process on his own felt _wrong_.

But he isn’t alone. Iris and Barry are there.

He still feels wrong not being there.

Dick had believed him when he said he was sick, but the reality of it hadn’t set in until there had been an actual event like this one. And now that it’s happened the gripping reality of the whole situation was choking him. He can’t even imagine how Wally must feel about it – how the boy is probably not coping. But how could he cope with something like that? It’s not even happening to him and Dick is having a hard time swallowing this information. The boy sighs, feeling the heartache and pity for Wally consume him. He wishes there is something he could do to help, but there’s not really anything anyone can do. He doesn’t even know if this situation is permanent or not. He is helpless to it all, and to top it all off Wally will not even speak with him. He probably is in too much shock to talk to anyone, though. Dick understands that but it still makes him feel sorta wrong inside, like he’s not close enough to Wally for the other to confide in him. He knows that isn’t true even if it sort of feels that way right now.

Dick groans and wraps himself up in the blanket as if it’s a cocoon, feeling that if he at least can get a bit of warmth he might feel marginally better about this whole situation. The dark haired boy slumps over, resting his head on the arm of the couch as he contemplates this whole situation. There’s not much time to do so because moments later the couch shifts with a second weight. Dick peers over the edge of his blanket to see who it is that has sat beside him, and is a bit surprised to see Bruce’s dark hair instead of Alfred’s grey. Bruce regards him sort of blankly, but Dick knows the man well enough to see the concern in his eyes. The two stare at each other in silence for a minute, before Dick speaks up.

“I am back from the hospital.” His voice sounds weak even to him. But how could he sound normal at a time like this? How could he pretend to be unfazed? Batman could do it, Bruce could do it. But he doesn’t know if Dick can…or even if Robin could. Bruce nods in acknowledgement, seeming to understand that Dick doesn’t really know what else to say about it. That he can’t say any more about it.

“Have you slept?” The man’s rumbling voice is somewhat softened now; a tenderness Dick knows is only really reserved for him. It warms him just a little – it’s enough to make his lips turn ever slightly upward.

“Some.” He admits. “My neck is killing me.” The boy sighs. Chairs are not fun to sleep in, really. Chairs make everything physical ache which doesn’t help when everything emotional and mental is also aching.

“It’ll do you good to sleep here tonight. Iris and Barry will watch over Wally just fine, you know.” Bruce assures him with that knowing look in his eye, but really Dick can’t help but feel sick to his stomach on the subject of Wally. He frowns, eyes wandering over to the empty fireplace and the mantle depicting a large portrait of Thomas Wayne. It’s easier to look at a painting than Bruce’s face right now, especially since he’s pretty sure he knows where this whole conversation is going. Dick lets the moment drop between them, stretching the silence like taffy. Part of him wants to talk about it and part of him wants to just curl up in his bed and forget about it for a little while.

But he knows the latter is impossible, because his boyfriend has just lost his legs, and now is giving him the silent treatment. He wants to be there for the other, but there’s nothing he can do if Wally won’t let him help…not that there’s anything he can do about the problem anyway, but going home feels – _ugh he’s going in circles_. Bruce’s intense gaze turns from him as the silence carries on, moving to another part of the room. Dick swallows heavily.

“He wouldn’t even talk to me.” The boy states quietly. He’s only fifteen, sure, but he still knows what pain is. He knows emotional trauma, and he knows when something can’t be done, and now is just one of those times. He doesn’t need to look at Bruce to see the deep breath and light sigh he’s taking right now. Bruce has had a lot of experience with loss, and Dick knows that the man’s advice is somewhat sound, but he’s not so sure if it’s advice he’s seeking, or really just comfort from the situation in general. Bruce is really horrid at comfort, though. So in all honesty he may not get either one. His eyes flick to Bruce who seems to be staring at one of the bookshelves rather intently – wrapped up in a flurry of thoughts that he’s attempting to put in order. But after a brief moment, he does answer.

“He’s going through a lot right now, Dick.” Bruce starts. “And even if he’s not talking to you, I’m sure it’s nothing you’ve done. You did all anyone could, and that’s all he can ask for.” Dick sits up from his burrito’d state, heaving a sigh. He knows all that, but it doesn’t much make him feel better. In an attempt to comfort, Bruce pats Dick’s shoulder, drawing the younger’s gaze his way.

“Just give him some time to process things. The loss of his legs is probably a lot for him to take in.” Dick sighs heavily.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

 

***

 

 

Wally eventually did talk to him, after a week of plain silence. There were no texts exchanged, no IMing, and no phone calls answered. Dick had begun to wonder if this silent treatment was something which would last for a while, but then on his release from the hospital, Wally asked him to come to the lobby to pick him up.

It was then that the redhead had wheeled out from the elevator, a whole foot shorter than he was now that he sits in a wheelchair. Dick had stowed all reactions away other than a warm smile of relief because even if it is sad to see the speedster chair-ridden, he honestly was just missing the boy in the first place. Wally looked sort of sullen, and his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but Dick can tell he is trying to be friendly, so he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Hey, Wally.” Dick starts. “How are you feeling?” He knows it’s probably not a good question to ask, but he might as well get it out of the way. Wally shrugs, burrowing into the jacket Barry had no doubt dropped off for him.

“Shitty. Hungry.” He states bluntly. At least he hasn’t lost his appetite. He knows Wally is upset, but he sounds so angry. It’s always been difficult to deal with Wally when he is angry. Dick isn’t sure he’s ever really quite gotten the hang of it to be honest. Dick is trying his best to keep things normal, shift back into the routine that both of them are familiar with so maybe Wally can process things in comfort. Wally glares at the ground, clutching the armrests till his knuckles bleed white.

“Well do you want to go get something to eat before we head to your place?” He’d promised Barry to make sure Wally was well taken care of and got home at an okay time, if only because Wally’s whole world has been altered in these past weeks. Dick had promised. But that doesn’t mean he and Wally can’t go get some food. “My treat?” Wally chews on his cheek for a moment. He takes in a deep breath, his worried brow softening . Wally wheels closer and nods.

“Yeah, that sounds good, Dick.” His voice is so soft, and so sad. It’s breaking Dick’s heart. As soon as the pair Zeta to Central Wally wheels out onto the sidewalk.

“Do you need help with that?” He asks as Wally struggles to wheel himself up onto the curb.

“No,” Wally snaps, “I got it.” The disgruntled tone isn’t surprising, but Dick’s never heard it directed at him, and he’s taken aback. He falls into silence as Wally tries again and again to roll fast enough to skip the curb. Each time he attempts it the wheels just crack against the pavement, and he skitters backward. Dick watches forlornly, hands shoved in his pockets. Wally gets angrier and angrier each time, and ultimately he screams in anger at – well the chair, the pavement, and just the situation in general. Dick sighs and grabs the bars from behind so he can tip the chair, and heft Wally up onto the curb so he can finish the action.

“ _I said I could do it Dick!”_ Wally nearly seethes at him, but it’s too broken up by his rage to really sound anything but pathetic and defeated.

“Wally, please.” Dick replies flatly. “You can’t do everything by yourself. You’re not even used to it yet.” Wally slams a fist into the chair, rolling away from him quickly enough.

“I shouldn’t _have_ to be used to it!” Wally yells, “I’m not a baby, Dick. I can take care of _myself_.” Dick would reply, but he just doesn’t have the words to, not when tears are gathering up at the brim of Wally’s lids. He’s just trying to help. He just wants to make this easier on him. But instead of saying something comforting Dick’s irritation gets the better of him.

“Alright, Wally. Next time you’re having trouble I’ll just let you roll into the wall.” Wally’s about to retort, but Dick looks down at him over his glasses and the look he gives him shuts Wally up in a heartbeat. The redhead sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I’m such an asshole.”

“No, you’re just upset.” Dick amends. “And you have every right to be.” He falls into step beside Wally’s chair. He has to take longer strides to keep up with its skating pace. It seems like Wally will always be faster than he is, legs or no. “C’mon, we’ll get Chinese.”

The restaurant remembers them, and no one asks what happened to Wally, only that they ask if they’d prefer a table to a booth this time. They’re settled in with too many appetizers to count soon enough, and he and Wally are inhaling some egg rolls and wontons faster than half the guests even get food.

“So, I’ve done a lot of thinking, Dick.” Wally says, slurping up his Coke. Dick smothers his half eaten egg roll in sweet and sour sauce as his boyfriend continues. “I think I’ve decided to quit the team.” As much as it’s a blow to the heart, Dick had expected as much from him. He just nods, taking a bite out of his eggroll.

“I thought you might,” he says after swallowing. Wally snorts , tearing through a wonton.

“Alright, mis’tr detec’tve.” Sometimes Dick wonders how Wally doesn’t choke. He chews for a second, then swallows. “But, I don’t think I’d be of much help anymore. Plus, you’ve always been the computer one anyway.” Wally shrugs, dipping a dumpling in the hoisin. He pops it in his mouth, eyeing Dick’s expertly used chopsticks with disdain.

“You know we’ll always accept you back should you change your mind.” Dick reminds him. Wally nods, swirling the contents of his drink lazily.

“I know, but I honestly need some distance.” Dick nods, setting his chopsticks down on the table.

“I understand.” Dick smiles, resting his forearm on the table to lean forward. “So I guess for right now, let’s just be Dick and Wally, okay?” It’d be good for both of them. “No Team business. Just us.” Wally smiles fondly, looking happier than he had since his birthday.

“Yeah. Just us.”

 

***

 

 

“Just put the box beside the counter, I’ll get to it after I finish with this one.” Sunny, green eyes dart his way, topped off with a big goofy grin that Dick can’t get enough of. Dick drops their last box, or really it’s Wally’s last box, and it’s heavy because of all the books and souvenirs Wally had yet to get rid of from his League days. Dick told him he’d help pack them up because Wally can’t really carry them himself from the chair. He carried what he could, and Dick took care of the rest.

“This one’s yours, Walls.” Dick tells him, kicking the door to their apartment shut. Wally had agreed to stay in Bludhaven when they’d decided to move in together. He understood, though it pained him, that Dick needed to be here. He can’t give up his nighttime activities, and Wally doesn’t expect him to. But he still sees the look of envy in Wally’s eyes when he crawls through their fire escape at midnight. Sometimes he thinks it may just be worry, but it’s hard to say with the way that Wally still rubs hat his legs as if he can coax them into functionality again. Is he reliving old memories? Does he dream about the world blurred into nothing but brushstrokes when he went into flash mode? Can he still feel the wind in his hair?

Dick supposes that’s something you can’t ever forget.

“Do you want it in the room?” He asks, referring to the not so separated bed area they both share. The only separate parts are the closet and the bathroom, but Wally preferred a loft so his wheelchair could easily get around and Dick has no qualms about open space.

“Sure.” Wally amends. Even though he’s in a wheelchair, Wally doesn’t really seem like he is. He maneuvers it as if it’s an extension of his body, and after Dick having to pick him up a few times, Wally has pretty much mastered popping a wheelie in that thing. Plus they’d definitely broken him in to using it by racing through the streets and in Wayne Manor way back when. Wally had only crashed and burned a few times, but had never taken it personally when Dick came over to help him back up into the chair. It had done Wally good to be able to do something physical. He had started to act like his old self after that, and eventually he was just as functioning as anyone else.

He throws his weight around to turn the chair and zooms right on over to the bed where Dick takes the box and opens it up for him, setting it up on the table near the bed. Wally rummages through it, pulls out the heart container for the princess he’d saved, Cheshire’s sai, a tracking device, and a few other odds and bits that he’d picked up from Cadmus and god knows where else. Wally stares at the heart box, thumbing the red cross across the front. He’d saved a little girl’s life. Dick remembers it. He’d been sent on a league mission at the time. Right now he can’t really recall the details of that mission.

“Maybe we should unpack that later.” Dick suggests. “We still have to get the dishes and towels out.” Wally stares at the box anyway, before he sighs and sets it back inside the cardboard one. Wally sets the box back on the table, wheeling over to the bed beside Dick. Wally uses his arms efficiently enough to push himself out of the chair. Dick locks the wheels with his foot as Wally transfers himself to the bed beside Dick.

“You know, I miss it too much.” Wally says, leaning his elbows on permanently broken legs. “Not just the walking, but the feeling useful. Feeling like my life has purpose.” He amends, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. Dick leans over to rub his back in smooth circles.

“Your life does have purpose. Not everyone can do what we do. What you did.” Dick isn’t sure it will really offer much comfort, but it’s the logical truth. Not everyone can do what they do. It’d be largely impractical for everyone to try, too. He wishes Wally would stop beating himself up over it. He couldn’t have helped the fact that his super speed got him a disease. And he couldn’t have helped that his legs gave out any more than he could have helped eating.

“But I’m not doing it _now_.” Wally emphasizes. He groans into his hands. “It’s so useless. I’m so useless. Kid Flash just… fell off the face of the Earth. Dick I lived for our job. Saving people, making sure that the planet is…well y’know, fine. I just. Ugh.” Dick softens, at least for Wally. In reality it hurts him, more than Wally would expect. He was there. He was there when KF’s legs just gave out. Wally downright screamed and he hit the ground so fast that Dick was fairly certain that he had cracked his neck going down. Thank God that hadn’t actually happened. But as soon as he was down, the enemy had zeroed in on the fallen and Dick remembers the brief moment where panic had overwhelmed every ounce of training Batman had bequeathed to him. All those hours of being taught to keep it cool in any scenario possible had just all faded away into nothing but sheer anxiety. But the enemy had hardly gotten five steps before Dick had sprung into action. He remembers fighting all of them off before any of the others could begin to help, and when the second wave hit, he’d had Wally thrown over his shoulders, completely unconscious while Miss M and Superboy had started taking control of the situation. Nothing had scared him more than that moment…not even the moment that he learned Wally had lost all functionality of his legs. He’s just grateful that the former speedster had lived at all.

“Wally, you saved so many lives already.” Dick reminds him. “I’m sure Queen Perdida never has forgotten you.” He takes Wally’s hand in his own, resting the flat of his chin on the redhead’s shoulder. “Your life does have purpose.” He squeezes Wally’s limp fingers. “Yours has just as much purpose as mine does.” Wally leans into his touch, defeated.

“It doesn’t feel like it.” He mutters. Dick knows he’s restless. And he understands. He would be too. But Wally has to let go of things that are out of his control.

“You can’t let that get you down, Wally.” Dick says softly. Wally scoots closer and wraps his arms around Dick. He’s still as strong as Dick remembers. “You’re still important.” Wally scoffs.

“Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry don’t count. They’re obligated to love me.” He chuckles.

“Fine.” Dick says. “But I’m not.” The look Wally gives him is a mixture of grateful and touched. He leans over to reach Dick’s mouth, and Dick understands, in that moment, that Wally is just as happy to have Dick in his life as he is to have Wally in his own.

 

 

***

 

 

“The doctors told me my leg tissue is degenerating.” Wally says forlornly by the window. Dick looks up from his phone, mug paused halfway to his mouth.

“Which means?” He asks. Of course, he knows what it means, but he wants to know what it all entails. Wally has been to the doctors hundreds of times about his legs. The message is always the same. Dick wonders why he still goes, and he’s tried to talk Wally out of it, but the redhead is insistent. He wants to fix them, he is convinced it’s possible. Dick isn’t sure, but he’s not about to shoot Wally down about it.

“They said I’d never walk again. Actually, in their exact words, they said that my chances of sprouting wings and flying are far better than me ever getting my legs back. The degeneration is isolated to my lower body, though. The tissue from my waist up is still fine.” Wally’s head thunks against their cool glass window. He’s not sure what to say. This is the same message that Wally has gotten from day one. He seems so distraught about it. Dick isn’t sure how to approach the situation. He can’t simply tell Wally to let it be, just to continue physical therapy and accept the fact that he’ll never use his legs again, because god, Wally it has been eight years now. But Wally’s legs are everything to him.

Dick knows there’s no right answer. He opts for silence.

“There’s a way, Dick. I know there’s a way.” Wally grinds out. “The degeneration is unique. I’ve seen the tissue samples. It’s… just.” He groans. “It always gets better before it gets worse again, Like my body is fighting back, but can’t ultimately repair everything.” Wally turns to look at him. “Sometimes, I can move my toes. Or I think I can.”

“Did you reenact Kill Bill?” Dick asks, merely out of obligation to keep the conversation light. Wally snorts, lounging back in his chair.

“You betcha. _‘Wiggle your big toe.’_ ” He imitates. “But, if I can move my toes, then eventually, I can move my legs.” Dick takes a long sip of coffee to clear the head. Wally wouldn’t have brought it up if he weren’t certain. Toe moving is certainly a step forward, but honestly Dick hopes it isn’t just a fluke.

“Tell me if I can help.”

 

 

***

 

 

It’s late – too late. It’s so late that it’s early. And normally that wouldn’t be an issue but this time it is an issue because it’s not only so late that it’s early the first night. This is the third night in a row that he hasn’t gotten home. Patrol has taken him out of Bludhaven to Gotham, and then back again. He’s had to call in sick at the station just to keep his head out of shark infested waters. But really, the shark infested waters that he’s flooded in now are millions worse than the ones that he’d be facing at the station. Maybe, the Station would be one or two hammer heads, but this…this is like a great white and all its starving children had marked him for death. A cracked rib or two, broken thumb, and more than a few gashes and lacerations make him down for the count. He’s tied from the ceiling and the blood is rushing for his head.

Wally is going to kill him for not giving a call. His comm. link was trashed hours ago, though. Blockbuster had made quite sure that he had no escape. Or at least, he thought he’d made it so. But there are a few things one can do to improvise. Dick squirms, doing his absolute best to keep focused on the goal instead of the pain: to get the shock pad on his suit. He’s insulated from the blast, but these goons below him will be out like a light. For how long, he’s not sure. He’s used to using it on Blockbuster who thinks of it as not much more than a tickle. The pain in his thumb radiates down through his wrist and it’s hard for him to barrel through, but he’s fought Mr.Frieze with a torn ligament and a cracked rib before so really agitating his bummed thumb isn’t anything in comparison.

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to enjoy it.

One dose of shooting pain later, Dick’s reached the pad and the shock bounces across the rain-soaked floor and his captives are out for the count. Breaking the chain capturing his feet takes a bit of momentum maneuvering, but he manages to swing himself to a snapping breaking point and after he crashes to the floor he can start to pick the lock of his cuffs. Even with his limbs free it’s still an effort to tie his enemies up, and an effort still to hobble his way out the window. There’s no usual fancy flipping today. He’s down for the count, here. He’s been slowed up quite a bit, but the moon provides excellent cover for his slow journey home. Time to stick to the alleys instead of the rooftops.

He’s lightheaded by the time he reaches their third floor apartment; then dizzy and nauseated when he gets up through the fire escape.

“Honey I’m home.” He jokes, but coughs soon after and the action shoots down through his ribs and his arm alike.

Everything aches. Everything stings. The pain is going to knock him out.

“ _Where the_ hell _have you been?”_ is the last thing he hears before the light leaves him, and he’s met with gentle sheets.

When he wakes his head feels like cotton and taking a deep breath is like murder, but he smells burnt coffee and knows he’s somewhere safe and taken care of because only one person would burn the coffee this bad. He really should buy Wally a Keurig.

“G’ mornin’,” he croaks, trying to clear his throat enough to not sound like a Batman impersonator.

“Morning.” Wally does not sound happy, but then again he can’t blame him for it either. He’d be pretty unhappy too if it were a reversed situation. Dick tries to peel his eyes open, but it’s such an effort that he just gives up and lets his ears tell him what’s going on. The soft skating noise alerts him that Wally is rolling over to the bedside, and a thunk states that he’s set the mug down on the nightstand table. As if memorized, Dick hefts an arm out of the warm cocoon of the blankets to lay it in Wally’s lap. He grabs the hand he knows is there and sighs, lacing his fingers through the redhead’s. “What did you think you were doing?” Wally whispers. Dick shrugs, turning his head to face Wally and force his eyes open.

“I didn’t. It was an ambush.” He explains. Wally squeezes his fingers and then sets the base of the mug in his hands. “I would have called if it hadn’t been. You know that.” The redhead winces, wrinkling his nose.

“I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to think you were hurt, but I didn’t know how not to assume that either. Oracle couldn’t find you.” Dick sighs, and though it hurts him to do it the impression is the same. Two people he knows were put in wheelchairs because of the life they chose. The life he chose. Do the consequences outweigh the good? Sometimes, Dick isn’t sure. This gig is hurting the people he loves more than it is saving them. Babs and Wally are both permanently damaged, and Wally nearly worries himself sick every time he puts on the suit. And Jay… god help him. Dick turns his eyes to the ceiling, trying to search for the solution but coming up empty. Did he pick the right lifestyle? Has all of this been a mistake? Will he end up like Bruce; stuck in an endless cycle of obsession until he conquers it, only for another menace to crop up and drive him to madness? Or will there be an end to it all, someday? Will he and Wally get to have a normal life? Will he get to wake up in the morning and kiss Wally before he goes to work? Will they get to eat dinner together? Will they get to go on dates and sleep in?

God, he hopes so.

“I’m- I’ll be okay. Just, please,” he rasps, “just stay near me.” Wally looks confused for a minute, but ultimately the redhead takes the cup of coffee from his hands and rolls over to the opposite side of the bed. The mattress shifts and Wally is there – everything consumes him. Wally’s scent envelops him, his soft sun kissed skin, his strong embrace though gentle on him now with his ribs. Dick lays his head on Wally’s chest and listens to the solid heartbeat fluttering there. He may not run like a speedster, but he does have the heart of one. Wally’s heart still pumps so fast. It’s fast and deliberate and everything in the world Dick needs right now. “I’m sorry.” He whispers. He’s partially talking about this whole happenstance, partially about being unable to help Wally, and partially about… just existing in the first place. Nothing feels right. Wally in a wheelchair isn’t right. Him, sitting in their bed with a pair of cracked ribs and a cast around his hand isn’t right.

_Start with listing the things that are right_. He hears his mother say, a whisper from a lost life. He hardly remembers what her face looked like. He can only see her by picking out the most feminine traits of his own. His lashes, his fingers, his mouth.

_I am safe. He starts. I am at home. Bruce is safe. Tim is safe. Barbara is safe. Wally…Wally is more than safe. Wally lives with him. They’re together._

_...Wally can move his toes._

The confirmation is the small shift against his ankle.

Dick takes a deep breath, and settles into Wally’s embrace.

 

 

***

 

 

Patrol takes him longer than anticipated. Soames is safely locked away though, and Tad won’t be bothering anyone anytime soon. All in all, the extra logged hours probably did him some good. Dick rolls through the window of his apartment with an internal sigh, squinting at the sunlight peeking out over the horizon. That long, huh? He has to go into the station today. He wonders if he’s even going to be able to make it through the front door without collapsing.

The aura of the house embraces him: burned coffee, cookies cooked three minutes too long, and an indescribable sense of absolute warmth. A certain measure of joy brims at the edge of the window pane and Dick feels as though he’s being doused with it as he shuts the pane behind him. He smells something like baked goods, and smiles as he turns to face their stove.

“Blueberry pancakes, hu-?” He stops dead in his tracks. Wally is indeed flipping pancakes. His wrist eases and flicks and the jack flips in midair only to land right back in the pan, sticky side down. It’s a practiced move, a practiced move that Dick taught him in the first place. It’s not the pancake flipping that’s impressed him. It’s the fact that the wheelchair is halfway across the room.

It’s the fact that it’s folded up and leaned against the wall.

It’s the fact that Wally is standing on his own two damn feet, flipping pancakes, which impresses him. Dick’s breath leaves him as fast as it would if someone had kicked him in the stomach. He sits back against the window. Wally shifts the pan back and forth to assure that the jack is cooking before to turns to look at Dick with a stupidly giddy grin on his face.

“ _Shit_.” Is all he can say. Wally snorts.

“I got up at four A.M. to make all these goddamn pancakes, and this is the greeting I get.” Dick stares at him, and Wally’s got a hand on his hip and a pan in the other, looking like he might just smack Dick upside the head with it. He thinks that he might find this more convincing if Wally were to make good on the unspoken, empty threat.

“Okay, housewife.” Dick drawls. He could mention the elephant in the room. But there’s no reason to. Wally’s joy is enough to sate Dick’s curiosity. It’s all Wally could have ever wanted. He is upright. He’s on his feet. He’s jubilant. “Would you like me to set the table, honey?” He asks, stepping down from the window and peeling off the suit. Sweats are grabbed from the floor in a matter of seconds, and the suit is discarded and forgotten even faster.

“Please, darlin’ if you would.” Wally plays the facade well, and he even pulls out that Midwestern drawl to emphasize the part. Dick’s reaching up on his tippy toes to get the plates with a snicker(Wally is taller than him now) and snatches the falling syrup as naturally as if he’d planned it to drop. Before he pulls away Wally’s hand slips around his waist and he pulls Dick to him, leaning down to plant a smiling kiss straight on his lips. He can feel the excitement vibrating beneath Wally’s skin. His glee makes Dick smile as well, but he bumps Wally back to the stove.

“Don’t burn our breakfast, Walls.” He chuckles. Wally doesn’t need to turn around to measure the distance to Dick’s ass, and he smacks it before he heads for the table. Dick doesn’t acknowledge it besides the smirk on his face as he sets the plates, butter, and syrup out on the table. Silverware follow suit and he leans back against it waiting for Wally to get through making an arsenal of pancakes to satisfy both of them. The jacks are stacked quickly enough and Wally picks up his ridiculous stack of pancakes (Dick knows they’ll all be gone within the next twenty minutes). He takes in a deep breath, and very slowly lifts one foot from the ground. His body weight shifts, and wobbles as if he’s about to collapse, but the redhead glares in his direction when he moves to give assistance. Dick eases back against the table, his brain flicking back to eight years ago when he’d picked Wally up from the hospital and the redhead had nearly taken his head off when he’d tried to help.

Note taken Wally. He can do it on his own.

Wally regains his balance after a moment and lifts another foot to follow the first. The beginning steps are unsteady, but after the fourth one he seems to have the hang of it and makes his way to the table. Dick doesn’t comment on it, he just slides into the chair next to Wally’s. Wally snatches his fork from the table and twirls it between his fingers in anticipation.

“Breakfast is served, babe.” Wally grins, slides him three pancakes, and digs into the rest. Dick grins as he spreads the butter over his pancakes.

He doesn’t feel the need to eat much when seeing a Wally happier than he’s been in years is sitting right beside him.

“Thanks, Walls. This is the best breakfast I could have asked for.” He laces his fingers through Wally’s, giving them a tight squeeze. He leans over to peck the man on the cheek, deciding that, yes, he’s going to call into the station today to celebrate.


End file.
